


Gains and Losses

by Tarlan



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-02
Updated: 2002-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 01:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris wants to be alone... Ezra wants to be alone... Or do they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gains and Losses

**Author's Note:**

> This is my M7Slash list **PENALTY FIC**... One Chris/Ezra story coming up as ordered

Chris paused in the deep shadows just outside the saloon, gazing through the window at the interior, his eyes scanning for any signs of life. He could see Inez at the bar, her head propped up by one hand, long dark hair falling around her pretty face. Her bored expression told him what he needed to know, that the place was empty - or as near as mattered. Chris sighed. He was tired but he could not sleep, the events of the day playing over and over in his mind as he tried to make sense of the emotions that tumbled through him.

On the one hand there was all that money, ten thousand dollars, still sitting around though safely out of harm's way for now. He had no idea what they were going to do with it should no-one claim it legally, although Ezra was right about it reverting to the finders if that was the case but, strangely enough, the money did not mean anything to him. What would it gain him when he already had everything he needed right here and now... or did he?

He sighed and pushed into the lamp-lit interior of the saloon, noticing the beaming smile as Inez perked up on seeing a customer. She grabbed a bottle of red-eye from under the counter and placed it onto the bar top along with a shot glass. He nodded his thanks and threw some coins onto the bar but, otherwise, no words passed between them; Inez seemed to know when he needed to be alone with his thoughts.

Chris poured a full measure of the deep amber liquid into the glass then downed the contents in one swallow. He shuddered as the fiery drink burned its way down his throat to coil warmly in his belly. That's when he realized he had not eaten that evening. The thought of food did nothing for him even now, although he knew it was stupid to drink on an empty stomach.

His thoughts went back to earlier in the day, to when he had come to realize that Mary Travis was the target of the assassin. He had been concerned for her safety, especially as she refused to stay out of harm's way. But then, he was responsible for ensuring the safety of all the townsfolk. That was what he was getting paid for, but he had to admit that he cared about Mary more than any of the others. She was a good woman. Strong, capable... opinionated. The thought of seeing her lying dead on the ground, having been felled by an assassin's bullet, was... disquieting.

Disquieting?

He frowned. Surely he ought to feel more than merely disquieted at her death? Surely he should have felt exactly the way he did when he saw Ezra... when he saw Ezra...

Chris squeezed his eyes closed as his mind replayed the image that his thoughts refused to articulate. He saw Ezra scanning the crowd, moving forward purposefully and placing himself between Mary and the assassin. The boom of the gun resounded in his ears, crystal clear despite the noise of the crowd around them and he had seen that slighter figure slump forward over the man before being pushed aside. He had watched in horror, everything happening so fast and yet the sight of Ezra falling seemed to happen in slow motion. Part of him had screamed as Ezra hit the ground, sure in the knowledge that no-one could have survived such a body shot at close range. The rest of him had pushed the gibbering wreck within himself aside and dealt with the business at hand. Once it was all over, only then did he allow himself to turn back and confirm with his eyes what his heart and head had already told him; that Ezra was dead.

Chris slugged back another glass of whiskey, grimacing as it sat uneasily in his stomach.

So many thoughts had filled his head at that moment: remembrance of the way he had treated Ezra, the harsh words that had fallen so easily from his lips as he proved he did not trust the other man - with money. What had hurt most was not so much knowing that he had been right not to trust him, rather it was the knowledge that he had never told Ezra how much he valued him in other ways. Every man had his strengths, and every man had his weaknesses. Today Ezra had been tempted by his weakness, and Chris had learned that one of own weaknesses had a name: Ezra Standish.

He picked up the bottle, intending to slosh more of the whiskey into the glass but stayed his hand. Propping up the bar was never a good idea when there was no friend to watch your back. In his line of work it was far safer to locate a suitable table where you could sit with your back to the wall and face to the door, ready to confront any eventuality. He gathered up the bottle and glass. He turned around, having already decided which was the perfect table, his eyes widening, jaw dropping when he found it had already been taken by the only other customer in the bar - and that man was the last person Chris wanted to see right now.

****

He was sitting in the shadows at the back of the saloon, drinking alone, the ache in his chest and the painful thoughts in his head making it difficult to sleep. Nathan had offered him a sleeping draught but he had declined, preferring to dull both sets of pain with some of the finer whiskey available in this establishment. He was still reeling from the events of these last few days and the obvious distrust of his fellow lawkeepers. He remembered asking JD if they considered him to be a larcenist, believing he would abscond with the money should they place it into his hands for safekeeping. JD's reply had been brutal in its honesty.

Ezra took another sip of whiskey as he remembered Josiah's harsh words, but the truth in those words was like a sword that pierced him to the soul. He had been blaming his friends for their distrust of him, for the lack of the respect that he felt he had earned over the past year. He had recalled the tilt of their heads and the askance gazes they laid upon him whenever he outlined a newly thought out money-making scheme, seeing the narrowing of their eyes as they thought only of the benefits that would line his pockets, forgetting that it would also line their own. He heard the contempt in their voices, saw the shake of their heads in disappointment as they turned away. Ezra had considered himself to be an entrepreneur, but they saw only a mercenary.

The terrible truth of the matter was that they had been right.

When he had gone seeking advice or pity from Josiah, maybe both, and had been given the chance to prove them all wrong, he had failed miserably. His avaricious nature had taken hold of him in such a powerful grip that he could not refuse the lure of the money. He had been on his way to the livery with the money wadded in the lining of his coat, his feet under the control of his baser instincts, and only one thing had stopped him in his tracks: the glint reflecting from a glass eye.

He knew that it was not thoughts of Mary Travis that had dragged him back from the abyss of money madness into which he had plunged, but rather the knowledge that Chris would try to stop this assassin - at all cost - and that cost just might be his life.

Chris Larabee. It all came back to Chris Larabee. Tall, lean and handsome with smoky green eyes that could be as soft as a spring moss, or as hard as flint - with so many layers in between. He had seen all of those layers directed at himself: anger, laughter, disappointment, contentment and despair. All except for the one look he longed for: Love.

The batwing doors moved and a darkness hovered on the threshold before taking the form of a man. Ezra paused with the glass part way to his lips as the man he had been thinking of, the man who haunted his dreams, stepped into the saloon. He could see the pinched look on Larabee's face, tiredness losing the battle against the black thoughts that could overcome a man in the dark hours. He was strangely pleased that Larabee had not noticed him hiding here in the shadows. Ezra wanted to be alone with his own thoughts, better that than making uncomfortable small talk with a man he would rather be ravishing.

That thought brought a smile curling his lips as he watched Chris stride across to the bar, keeping his back to the room in an unusual lack of vigilance. One small consolation of being unseen was that he could admire the lean figure, his eyes drifting the length of the tall frame, taking in the firmness of thigh, lingering on the tight curve of the black denim-clad ass. The torso widened slowly from the narrow hips to the broad shoulders, but it was the long column of creamy throat that snatched Ezra's breath away as Chris tilted his head back to down the whiskey. Ezra licked suddenly dry lips as he imagined his mouth sucking and licking and kissing that vulnerable throat. He jumped guiltily when Chris grabbed the bottle and turned around, those green eyes scanning the room, almost convinced that Chris had sensed the strength of his passion. Those eyes widened in shock when Chris caught sight of him in the shadows.

Their gaze held for a moment, locked together in shock but, for the first time, it was Chris who looked away first. Despite his desire to be alone, Ezra felt his heart sink to his stomach when Chris turned away from him with the obvious intention of cold-shouldering him. He dropped his eyes to the table top where he had a hand of solitaire almost played out and pretended he was not hurt by the snub. The shadow falling over the table brought his head back up, his eyes widening when he found Chris standing over him.

"Couldn't sleep. Care for some company?"

****

His first thought on seeing Ezra Standish hidden in the shadows at the back of the saloon was uncharitable. He had wanted to be alone, had wanted time to sift through all the thoughts that had come crashing down when he believed he had lost Ezra forever. The intensity of his feelings, of his passion for this man had stunned him and the illogic of his long standing censure of the man suddenly made sense. He wondered how long he had been in self-denial, how long he had been refusing to accept the desire that coursed through his veins whenever he laid eyes on the other man.

His eyes dropped away from Ezra's.

Chris turned away, afraid to be in the company of this particular man while his thoughts were in disarray, intending to take the bottle back to his room and drink himself into oblivion, but a glance back made him stop. The slighter figure looked suddenly smaller still, the head bowed, shoulders slumped. It was a posture of defeat and it ripped at Chris's heart. His feet carried him to the table before his brain could find an excuse to leave the saloon.

Ezra seemed shocked to see him standing there before him and it took several seconds before Ezra motioned to a seat with an expansive gesture, the mask firmly back in place, concealing that unexpected show of vulnerability.

"Perhaps you would care to partake in a game of chance, Mr Larabee?"

Chris smiled and shrugged one shoulder, taking the offered seat and placing his bottle of red-eye and the glass onto the table. He watched as Ezra deftly shuffled and dealt the cards with one hand, impressed by the skill displayed. He found himself becoming mesmerized by the long, almost delicate fingers as they stroked the cards, wishing those hands were caressing him instead.

They played several hands but it was obvious that neither of them had their minds focused on the game. Finally, Ezra looked up and sighed but his eyes darted away from Chris's.

"I do believe my game is a little off tonight."

"What's wrong, Ezra? Is it the arm?"

Chris felt his own eyes widen in shock when Ezra glanced back at him. Gone was the mask of the gambler and those emerald green eyes, aflame with desire, revealed the turmoil of that sharp mind. Chris found himself mumbling almost apologetically.

"I never..."

****

Ezra looked away, the dim light glinting off his gold tooth as he grinned with a mixture of resignation and sorrow, shaking his head in disbelief at his own stupidity in so carelessly revealing his affection. No wonder he had been a constant disappointment to his mother. All it had taken was some pain and a little self-pity and, suddenly, all the lessons she had instilled into him since childhood had gone flying out of the window. It was little wonder he had ended up in this dead end town, laboring for a mere dollar a day. He should have moved on months ago, returned to San Francisco, or taken one of the gambling steamboats up the Mississippi. Ezra swallowed hard. But then, he had found something in this miserable town that he had been missing his whole life... or at least, until today he thought he had found something.

Friends.

Ezra hardened his heart, pulling the cloak of subterfuge tight about his body, shuttering the pain of loss from his eyes as he looked back at Chris. He had handled disgust before, it was nothing new to him, although he half expected to find himself staring down the wrong end of Larabee's gun.

"Mr Larabee, I..."

Ezra found the words drying up in his throat as long fingers reached out to caress his cheek, any further words lost completely as he recognized the need that had darkened the smoky green eyes of his companion; a need that matched his own. He found himself trembling as one finger dragged across his lips, sending a flame of desire flickering along his nerve endings.

"I..."

"Don't speak. Can't understand half of what you say anyway, Ezra."

Ezra felt a bubble of laughter rising in him, he started to chuckle, his eyes filling with tears that threatened to fall and he reached out to clasp the strong fingers that still lingered on his face. He pulled his thoughts back together and stared deep into Chris's eyes.

"I want..."

"Yeah."

"My room is closer."

"Yeah."

Ezra flicked his eyes up to check on Inez but she was hidden from view. He stood up carefully, favoring his injuries, his hand refusing to let go of the fingers he clasped. When Chris followed him almost meekly, Ezra realized that, for once, he was probably the experienced partner in the relationship, and he felt a renewed admiration for Chris in that he was willing - and able - to hand over the reins.

****

Chris froze on the threshold of Ezra's room, his eyes focused on the bed that dominated it, suddenly aware of exactly where this was leading. He had sudden doubts about himself, and about Ezra, as he wondered what the younger man could possibly see in him. Until recently he had worn his grief like a coat of armor, seemingly impenetrable, still in mourning for the wife and child he had lost. Strangely enough it was Ella Gaines who had helped him to lay their ghosts to rest, his quest for their killer having come to an end. He knew his path would cross hers again one day and he would be able to take his revenge but, in the meantime, this town and the friends he had allowed through the shield had given him another chance at life.

He knew he was expected to find favor with Mary Travis, and make the beautiful widow his wife, but she was no Sarah and he could not help but compare them and find Mary wanting. With Ezra it was different. In Ezra he had seen a man who was struggling, but nonetheless willing, to change the habits of a lifetime; a man who was trying to shake off the lessons harshly beaten into him since childhood by a merciless mother. Ezra was no saint and never would be, but neither was he the self-serving gambler that had first walked among them. Despite a few lapses, Ezra had changed and none of them had given him any credit for the strength of character it had taken to make those changes.

The final proof of that change had come in slow motion, his body crumpling over the fired gun as he, selflessly, gave his life for Mary Travis. Suddenly, Chris understood part of his own doubts as he wondered whether he was merely a surrogate for the person Ezra truly wanted. He looked across at Ezra, seeing the fear in the other man's eyes as he waited to see what Chris would do next.

"Do you love her?"

"Love who?"

"Mary Travis."

Ezra's eyes widened in a mixture of shock and confusion.

"Now why would I have such strong affection for Mrs Travis?"

"You stepped in front of a bullet to save her."

A tremor ran through Ezra; Chris could feel it through their still joined hands. He felt a gentle tug and stepped fully into the room, his eyes still holding Ezra's. Chris had to tilt his head to catch the whisper, his own eyes widening in confusion at what he thought he heard.

"To save me? I wasn't in danger."

"Were you not, Mr Larabee? As quick a draw as you are, I fear you are no match for a man with his gun already raised."

Chris lowered his eyes, recognizing the truth of Ezra's words. He would have pushed Mary behind him and been the one to take the assassin's bullet, but there would have been no thick wad of hundred dollar bills to prevent that bullet from piercing his own flesh.

"You would die for me?"

"Is that so astounding, that I could have altruistic tendencies where your continued existence is concerned?"

"No."

"Perhaps you are now feeling obligated to me. I assure you, Mr Larabee, that I have no intention of requesting payment for my..."

"Ezra? Shut up."

Chris kicked the door shut behind him then covered the distance between them in two long strides, his hand reaching out to cup the back of Ezra's head and pull him into their first kiss. Any protests died as Chris continued his onslaught, moaning appreciatively when Ezra began to kiss him back. Chris felt the warm wetness of a tongue insistently battering against him and parted his lip to allow Ezra to claim him. Their tongues dueled and twined, warm breath mingling as Ezra flaunted his arrogant possession of the longed for mouth. When they parted, Chris found himself dragging deep, shuddering breaths into his air-starved lungs. His heart was racing, the blood pounding through his veins, heading south to pool in his groin, leaving him feeling light-headed.

He did not protest as his flat brim hat was snatched from his head, the item sailing across the room to land in a corner. Busy fingers started working on the buttons of his shirt and Chris could see the frustration on the lust-filled face as Ezra tried to do this with just the one hand. Chris grabbed the wrist, a smile playing about his lips as he pushed Ezra back until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he sat down abruptly.

"Let me."

****

Ezra watched, totally enraptured by a sight he thought he would never witness. He felt his pants grow tighter as the long fingers untied the string holding the holster tight to the lean, black-clad thigh. Those fingers, pale against the blackness of clothing, un-notched the belt, sliding the leather from the narrow hips before placing the gun belt and its lethal weapon in easy reach of the bed. Ezra swallowed hard as Chris made short work of the buttons of his shirt, tugging it from the waistband of his tight fitting pants before shrugging out of it. It dropped to the floor unheeded by both men as the top half of the long-johns was teased apart, revealing the creamy flesh of a well-defined chest. Ezra watched the strong shoulder muscles ripple as Chris eased himself out of cloth, letting it hang down outside his pants.

He frowned when Chris sank into a chair only three feet in front of him, but smiled at the grunt of exertion as the reason became clear; Chris removed his boots and socks. Chris raised his bare foot and pushed it against Ezra's groin, rubbing firmly, the toes wriggling against Ezra's hardened flesh. Ezra gasped, his hips rocking in counterpoint as delicious sensations curled through his belly and thighs but Chris pulled away suddenly.

"Demon."

The expletive earned Ezra a devilish grin, the teasing glint in those desire filled eyes promising far more to come. Ezra did not have to wait long as Chris stood up and started to work at the buttons of his fly, slowly, teasingly. Ezra could see the large bulge straining against the black denim, and as each button opened and the long-johns fell away he was treated to a glimpse of ivory flesh, his eyes following the path of dark blond hair down the flat stomach.

When the final button was popped Chris paused then, grasping the waist band he started to wriggle, the pants gradually easing over the lean hips. Ezra's mouth went dry when, all of a sudden, the pants were at mid thigh and he could see Chris in all his glory. His hand reached out to touch the hardened flesh that arched upwards from a bed of darker blond hairs, his thumb sliding across the swollen tip. The shaft jerked at his touch, a soft gasp falling from parted, kiss-swollen lips, a dewdrop of clear fluid seeping from the slit.

"Lord, so beautiful."

"Aren't you just a little bit overdressed there, Ezra." Ezra tore his eyes away from the wondrous vision as the husky, dry tone rolled over him. "But maybe you need a little help, you being injured and all."

"Yes." He swallowed hard. "A little assistance might be advantageous."

Chris kicked off his remaining clothes, leaving them in an untidy pile, and Ezra found his head reeling when the tall, wondrously built figure knelt down, naked, before him and lifted each foot in turn to remove his boots; the powerful eroticism of the moment overwhelming him as his fingers carded through the tousled hair on the bowed head. Ezra felt the calloused palms stroke across his feet, his heart hammering in his chest at the thought of that roughness trailing across his torso. He did not have to wait long as, soon after, those talented hands eased him out of his jacket, stripping him of his derringer and the forearm contraption before setting to work on his vest.

****

The silk of the vest glided over his fingers, a pleasure all in itself, and Chris wondered if the flesh beneath this fine clothing would feel as silky to his touch. He eased the vest over Ezra's injured arm last, folding the garment and laying it carefully on the bed. His own clothes lay in a heap behind him, the rough cotton of shirt and pants demanding no careful attention but these garments of Ezra's were so finely tailored that it would be a crime to crumple them. His fingers drifted to the silk cravat, drawing the ends until it unraveled, he slid the strip of material away. The crisp linen of the shirt felt smooth beneath his finger tips, the mother-of-pearl buttons gliding easily through the holes. He eased the shirt from the waistband of Ezra's pants and slowly pushed open the shirt flaps to reveal the smooth, pale chest that lay beneath. Chris leaned forward, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses upon the heated flesh, his tongue darting out to lap at the light coating of perspiration, tasting Ezra. He swiped across the brown disc of a nipple then watched as the sensitive flesh puckered before he nipped the hardened nub, easing the sting with another swipe of his tongue. Above him Ezra was moaning softly, his pale, delicate hands clenching and unclenching around strands of Chris's hair. Chris explored every inch of revealed flesh, mouth feasting upon the nipples, tongue dipping into the indentation of the naval before swiping across the firm abdomen. He paid special attention to the livid bruise that marred the creamy flesh, a physical reminder of how close he had come to losing this man.

The gun belt was disposed of before Chris attacked the fly of Ezra's pants, his tongue teasing its way through the fine dark hairs that grew more abundant as he journeyed south. As the last button was opened, Ezra's erection sprang free, the soft tip glistening with precome. Chris heard Ezra gasp as he licked across the sensitive head, tasting the essence of Ezra Standish before his mouth closed over the swollen flesh. He sucked, inhaling the musky scent of his lover blending so naturally with the perfume of lavender water and soap.

The hands in his hair became more demanding, pushing him hard onto the engorged flesh as the hips bucked up beneath him, almost gagging Chris as the tip hit the back of his throat. In the distance he could hear Ezra gasping out incoherently and when he felt the first tremors of approaching climax, Chris pulled away. Ezra clutched at him, frantic with need, his eyes never so expressive as in this moment when control had fled.

"Ssshh. Don't want to waste this."

Chris stroked the tensed thigh muscles through the still clothed legs then climbed to his feet, drawing Ezra up with him. The pants dropped to the floor and Ezra kicked them aside, no longer caring how much they had cost or how rumpled they would be by morning. For a moment Ezra lost the ability to draw breath as he watched Chris pull back the covers and drop down onto the bed on his stomach, raising his ass invitingly into the air.

The soft voice, deep and husky with his own need, drifted up.

"Never done this before, Ezra. Never been taken, but..."

****

Ezra closed his eyes, a tear escaping as he realized what was being so freely offered. He opened them so he could burn the image of this man, and those firm, pale ass cheeks into his memory forever.

With a trembling hand he reached over to his dresser and drew back a small bottle containing a perfumed oil. He pulled the cork with his teeth then paused. Chris saw his predicament and took the bottle from his hand, tipping it up to pour some of the oil into Ezra's palm. He replaced the bottle on the side then sank back onto the crisp white sheets, pillowing his head in his arms.

Ezra heard the deep sigh of contentment as his oil-slicked fingers teased at the entrance to the beautiful body beneath him, his finger slipping inside as Chris relaxed at his touch. Taking it slowly, Ezra stretched the muscle, finger stroking the soft inner wall, reaching deeper for that special spot inside that always sent his own body into spasms of ecstasy.

A soft cry and a buck of the hips let him know when he had found it and Ezra teased the hidden gland, playing Chris like he was a finely tuned instrument, listening to the sounds of pleasure echoing around the room. Two fingers replaced one but finally, when he judged Chris was ready, Ezra withdrew his fingers. He anointed his swollen shaft with oil and guided the blunt tip to the relaxed hole, pushing in firmly, clamping down hard on the urge to thrust in to the hilt in one single push. He used his one hand as both balance and control, gripping Chris's bony hip and pulling him back as Ezra thrust forward. Cries of pleasure and pain filled the air as Chris was impaled upon him, the body coated in a fine sheen of sweat as he writhed beneath Ezra in wanton abandonment. All too soon Ezra found his control slipping away, his hips snapping forward to thrust deeper and harder into the tight, hot channel. Sweat dripped from his face, splashing onto his lover's back as he drove himself harder and faster.

When the moment of annihilation came, Ezra found himself soaring, his senses climbing higher and higher and just as he thought he could reach out and touch the stars he came crashing back to earth, screaming his lover's name over and over. The tight muscles clenched around him, milking his flesh of the last of his seed as Chris bucked and gasped beneath him, his own cries and moans smothered by the pillow.

Ezra collapsed across the strong back, unwilling to withdraw from the hot flesh that still gripped his rapidly softening shaft.

"Oh Lord."

Eventually he had to move, pulling himself free and slipping to one side of the still heaving body. Chris rolled over, one forearm covering his eyes as he fought to control his breathing. Ezra urged him to move his arm and turn onto his side until they were facing each other.

Ezra lifted a finger to trace the softly curving smile on the kiss-bruised lips. The smoky green eyes that caught his own were soft with satisfaction and contentment, and he knew that his own eyes reflected that same satiated pleasure as he gazed upon the man he loved.

Chris leaned forward and captured his lips in a gentle kiss, one full of love.

"Reckon I can sleep now... like to stay here though."

"I will shoot you with your own gun if you attempt to leave this bed, Mr Larabee."

A mischievous grin curled the lips at the dry retort.

"Gonna have to leave it sometime, Ezra."

"As long as your intention is to come back."

"Oh, I reckon you can count on that."

THE END


End file.
